A man with short brown hair moved toward the weyr of Rekkora Castor. He did not quite manage average height, but that were just about the only characteristic he shared with his departed mother. His hazel eyes were serious, and he took more after his father in most things. Naturally serious, but a very loving man when it came down to it. Which is why he hoped that delivering this letter would be good for the young friend of his mother.
Dirn did not know the weyrwoman very well, but he expected things were tense now and did not want to test the waters. All of Cliffside was buzzing with the news, their Weyr at war. It was a troubling time. Life went on and the planet kept spinning, so he had to continue to do work. Perhaps his delivery would be good for the Queenrider. He had no way of knowing. This letter was not his.
There were guards. He politely stated his business. That he was delivering something that was to be handed to Rekkora on the death of his mother. One of them seemed to understand the situation, and he was allowed to knock at the door. He was not accustomed to being around such important people, so he put on a business face and resolved to carry out his mission before he said anything daft. Not that he was the sort to do that in the first place.
Rekkora was starting to feel better, certainly she wasn't over the death of her friend but she was starting to resemble her old self again. If she wasn't nearly as flirty as she had been, no one commented. In fact, much more of her true self seemed to be showing through. The veneer of silly, sweet and flirtatious queenrider was beginning to crack. She still hid some of the less desirable traits such as her vindictiveness, but as some might say, her northern blood was starting to show. Especially since the announcement of war. Any whispers of the involvement of the Abyssrider were met with haughty, frosty stares rather than simply ignoring them. Irai's death had changed her, there was no question about that. The sweet, somewhat innocent, silly and vain little thing she'd pretended to be to sway and manipulate many of the men in the weyr was fading away.
S'rico had gradually become a near constant presence both in her daily life and in her weyr though he did have duties to attend as did she. But more often than not, he was with her at the close and renewal of every day. A steadying presence in all his stubborn, grumpy glory. If she paid less and less attention to the other men of the weyr, certainly she wasn't one of the people to notice.
She'd just finished changing into a fresh dress for supper when there was a knock at the door. Checking her appearance one last time in the metal surface of the mirror, she crossed the weyr to the door and pulled it open, her expression calm and a bit on the neutral side as she peered up at the guard. "Visitor, weyrwoman. Says he has something to deliver." The man stepped aside and if his gaze lingered a bit longer than was necessary. The man that was revealed was unremarkable. He wasn't particularly tall and his age was perhaps close to that of her own father. She'd never seen the man before in her life, in fact. Though she was a bit stiff in her welcome, Rekkora was at the very least polite and seemingly sincere. "I hope you haven't traveled far." He didn't look at all like a runner. "You have something for me?"
“It was no inconvenience.” The blond woman was very pretty, but very much had the air of someone he thought was important. It was hard to imagine how his mother had come to know this woman. He took out a letter, which seemed a bit bulky, and extended it to the Weyrwoman. It was sealed with wax, no symbol, just made so that it could not be opened without showing a sign. On the top it read ‘In the event of death give to Rekkora Castor’.
“This is from M- Irai. We found it cleaning out her home.” He had to bite off calling her Mother. Turns of habit. “Ida and myself also wish to invite you to come to select something of hers as a keepsake, should you wish.” He decided not to mention that a lot of what they had discovered cleaning were knives. A ridiculous number of knives. They could only assume that their mother’s memory had been failing, and as she lost knives she replaced them. At least that was the most innocent answer they had found. They had never known their mother to be anything but sweet, so they had settled on that. Dirn kept his thoughts all to himself, keeping his feelings inside. Part of the reasons he (not Ida) was here, was that even though it still hurt that his mother was gone, he could keep it hidden. His sister still was caught sniffling some days, but she kept up her work well enough.
When he handed over the sealed letter and Rekkora got a good look at the writing on it, her expression faltered for a second. The pleasant expression became slightly pained and her fingers curled tightly but carefully around the letter. Her eyes came up at the near slip and blue eyes became more assessing as she took in the man's appearance. THere wasn't much about him that reminded her of Irai but she supposed this was one of her children. Sure enough, he made her an offer to claim a keepsake and once more her expression faltered. It took a moment for her to find her voice again and when she did speak it sounded a bit strained, courtesy of the lump in her throat.
"Thank you, that is very kind of the both of you. What did you say your name was again?" Now was not a good time for her to leave the weyr but she might very well take Irai's children up on the offer. While she could easily keep the knives that the old woman had died with, perhaps there was something else that wouldn't remind her of that particular image. Yes, something else would be nice. "Did you wish to come in?" The letter was clutched in her hands, close to her body. Rekkora was a bit confused that there had been such a letter, but then again the woman had been old. Certainly she'd never expected to die as she had, though.
Dirn’s eyes shifted when he detected the sorrow in the woman’s eyes. It was still fresh. Perhaps not as much as it had been, but it was slow when you were so close to someone. He understood that. The weyrwoman could hold her own though, and though her voice was not entirely untouched, he could well let it pass. He understood, after all.
“I am Dirn Cliffborn, apologies for not stating that earlier.” He was a touch embarrassed, though he didn’t show it easily. He paused a moment before responding to her next question, assessing the Queenrider’s state. No, he was somewhat strange to her, and he didn’t know what was in the letter, but he expected she would want to be alone for it. He would perhaps have time later when she came to visit he and his sister.
“I would not wish to impose. In any event, I have to return home tonight. I should take my leave so that I may arrive before dark.” He often visited the Weyr with his work, and generally knew how long he had to leave to get back. So he was taking a little extra time to get back. Still, he didn’t want to disturb the woman, and reassurance from a stranger wouldn’t help.
Rekkora inclined her head, silently dismissing his error. But when he declined her invitation she had to admit she was relieved. SHe wasn't sure she had it in her to entertain one of Irai's children. But because he was Irai's son she could at the very least make an offer. "I am sure that I could arrange a ride back to CLiffside for you? It wouldn't be any trouble at all."
Surely one of the riders who favored her would be more than willing to help.
Dirn bowed. “That is most generous of you.” He would take the offer for a ride, such things would be most acceptable. It might take a little time as he was escorted, but overall it would be much, much faster for his night.
It would be soon enough that the man was off to his own night and Rekkora would be left by herself, with a letter from her recently deceased mentor to be opened.